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THE DAYS OF LONG AGO 

AND 

IMMORTALITY 

(Antithesis of "The Rubaiyat") 



WARREN Ei COMSTOCK 

Author of " The First Woman and Other Poems 




ILLUSTRATED BY 

WILT, E. LIVEZEY 



RICHARD G. BADGER 




ULty <§orfjam jgreste 




BOSTON 




1909 









LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 15 1908 

^wngm entry 

CUSSCX XXc, No, 
"2- ^5"Q «=■ I 

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33 



TO TiT£ REVERED MEMORY OF MY 
DEAR MOTHER, I LOVINGLY 
DEDICATE THIS LITTLE 
VOLUME OF VERSE 

The Author 









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THE DAYS OF LONG AGO 

As we ascend the Mount of Life, 
And pause upon the Great Divide; 

And gaze back through the din and strife, 
Though brave our hearts, we cannot hide 

The welling tears of fond regret 

For the Days of Long Ago. 













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The carpet-loom and spinning-wheel's 
Soft droning music we can hear. 

The fireplace glow we still can feel; 
The well-sweep creaks upon our ear. 

The old log-house — we see it yet — 
In the Days of Long Ago. 






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The quaint rush-bottomed rocking-chair, 
The bright rag carpet on the floor; 

And grandma in her white cap there. 
Knitting before the open door 

With twinkling needles, beckon us 
To the Days of Lonp' Aero. 







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The tallow dips in sticks of brass, 
With flaring flame again we see 

The bureau with its knobs of glass, 
And four-post bed with canopy. 

In feathers deep how sound we sleep 
In the Days of Long Ago. 



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We churned the golden butter well ; 

We rolled the balls of cottage cheese. 
The home-made cider cast a spell — 

With clover blossom laden breeze — 
And sweet content with duty blent 
In the Days of Long Ago. 














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The old iron kettle in the edow 

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Of the great wood fire's licking flame. 
How well it boiled the lye yon know. 

And made the soft soap, grandma's fame, 
And first prize at the County Fair, 
In the Davs of Long- Ago. 

























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The sturdy farmer in the wheat, 
With cradle lays the harvest low, 

The tread-mill grinds the sorghum, sweet. 
The hired man drives the ox-team slow. 

O husking bees! O quilting teas! 
In the Days of Long Ago. 








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The shearing of the bleating sheep; 

The plucking of the noisy geese. 
The beehives hid in shadows deep; 

The buckwheat blossoms' snowy fleece 
All wraiths of youth, who tell the truth 
Of the Days of Long A^o. 




The smokehouse filled — hog-killing time 
With hams and "sides" hung in a row. 

The blackbirds piping merry rhyme 
With cawing of the pirate crow. 

The lost chords of an ancient lay 
Of the Days of Lornr Ago. 










Then moonlight winter nights agleam 
With diamond dust of sparkling snow ! 

The bob-sleigh with its four-horse team; 
Young folks 'mid robes of buffalo, 

How sly the kiss ! How sweet the bliss ! 
Of the Days of Long Ago. 









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The dance is on! — - Virginia Reel — 
" Gray Eagle" screams from violin. 

Exciting thrills from head to heel, 
Quadrille and waltz the time fill in; 
'Til break of day we dance away ! 
In the Davs of Long Ago. 














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Then shady nooks — like elfin bowers 
The snowball and the lilac trees; 

The beds of good old-fashioned flowers, 
The honeysuckle-perfumed breeze — 

Sweet incense hov'ring o'er the shrine 
Of the Days of Long Ago. 










The halo of the Golden Past 

Grows briohter as the years roll by. 

Fond retrospect in shadows east 

The scenes of yore on mem'ry's eye. 

Dear ones we love have gone above 
From the Days of Long Ago. 











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An echo from the Buried Past — 

The great brass knocker on the door. 

Its clanging call is stilled at last ; 
Those who responded are no more. 

Their shades we see in memory 
Of the Days of Long Ago. 









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IMMORTALITY 

(Antithesis of " The Ruhaivat") 



I 



"The flower that once has blown forever 

Dies!" 
Not so the soul of man, but to the 

Skies, 
Straightway it takes its flight ! — 'less scripture 

Lies. 

II 

This form of clay we wear is but the 

Tent, 
Pitched for a day on earth, and then we're 

Sent 
To join the vast encampment, who are 

Blent 
















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III 

With that great army who have gone 

Before; 
And now await us on the other 

Shore. 
We go but once, and we return no 

More! 



IV 



Why do we hate to strike our tent, and 
Be 

Transported to the Land Beyond the 

Sea, 
Where all is bright and fair for you and 

Me? 









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Because our faith is small. True friends are 

Few! 
We know this home, and that beyond the 

Blue 
Is unexplored by us, and if 'tis 

True 



VI 



That we shall — disembodied spirits 

Dwell, 
In never-ending bliss, — or else in 

Hell — 
Be thrust to everlasting torments — 

Well, 



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VII 

Our mortal flesh dictates to us to 

Stay, 
Where we are masters of our own sweet 

Way, 
And make the bed ourselves, on which we 

Lay, 

VIII 

Life's drama is a play where all take 

Part. 
The Timid Soul, and he of Lion 

Heart. 
Faith, Hope, and Love, the factors of the 

Art. 






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IX 



We cannot all be stars upon this 

Stage. 
Some minor part, for most of us doth 

Gage ^ 
Our calibre, in this most strenuous 

Asre ! 



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That we shall live again we cannot 

Doubt. 
Our innate longings put our fears to 

Rout. 
In Doubter's face the flag of Faith we 

Flout! 






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XI 



Both dainty flower and giant tree 

Proclaim: 
" The Hand that fashioned ns is just the 

Same 
That stretched the heavens, and called the 

stars by Name." 

XII 

The very dust that rides upon the 

Blast 
May once have been a Prophet of the 

Past. 
The moves upon Life's checkerboard are 

Fast ! 











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XIII 

To-day the world seems bright with joy 

Ahead! 
To-morrow finds us numbered with the 

Dead. 
The hungry maw of Time by all is 

Fed". 

XIV 

In wailing of the wind — so sad and 

Drear — 
The spirits of the Dead methinks I 

Hear. 
The world of Yesterday, on Mem'ry's 

Bier. 










XV 



Mysterious is the veil that hides from 

View 
The myriad throngs who've passed, and still 

pass Through: 
Compared with these those now on Earth are 

Few. 

XVI 

We try to look beyond, to pierce the 

" Veil. 
In storm-tossed bark we bravely set our 

Sail. 
If Faith be at the helm we'll ride the 
Gale. 












XVII 

The Styx — which separates those There and 

Here, — 
Forever sounds within our timid 

Ear. 
Its swift, dark tide, filling our heart with 

Fear! 

XVIII 

We of to-day shall long forgotten 

Be, 
Our tiny sail sunk in oblivion's 

Sea! 
Unless, dear Lord, we've anchored safe with 

Thee. 







XIX 

Fairest picture by mortal ever 

Seen: — ■ 
When sinking sun frescoes with golden 

Sheen 
The fleecy clouds that hide the Evening 

Queen. 

XX 

The sun's last quiv'ring darts rise 

Higher. — 
Until the mountain top and lofty 

Spire 
Reflect the dying embers of its 

Fire! ' 










XXI 



Nature's own artist dips her magic 

Brush 
In pigments rare, made in the quiet 

& Hush. 
When dying Day welcomes the onward 
Rush 



XXII 



Of myriad twinkling stars. Like diamonds 

Rare. 
They gleam as gems entwined in raven 

Hair! 

Then shafts of silver moonbeams pierce the 

Air! 















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XXIII 

Sweet notes of birds and perfume of the 

Flowers 
Shall ravish hearts who love them, — but not 

Ours, — 
Our thrill ! The joy of the Celestial 

Bowers! 

XXIV 

The harmonies of earth shall help to 

Fire 
The hearts of those we leave when we 

Ketire 
To join the chorus of the Heavenly 

Choir. 









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XXV 

Now Luna fair shall wax and wane, and 

So 
The sun fo r years shall rise and set and 

Lo! 
Unnumbered generations come and 

Go! 

XXVI 

The ebb and flow of tides shall still go 

On. 
Dame Nature clothe herself in green, then 

Don 
Her fleecy robes of white, but we'll not 

Con 






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XXVII 



Tlie.se object lessons from the Book of 

Life, 
'Midst company of Seraphim, where 

Strife 
Has long since ceased, and nought but Love 

is Rife; 

XXVIII 



We'll dwell throughout Eternity, and 

Wait 
For other Pilgrims who have traveled 

Straight 
The Narrow Path that lends to Heaven's 

Gate! 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

018 602 681 



